Child's Play
by IzzyFraser98
Summary: I've suffered fifteen years of this bone chilling winter. I was risking my life each day just to protect the ones I loved, or what remained of them. The war was taking over our lives. So when I was offered a chance to escape it all and help my country, how could I say no? Little did I know what I got myself into


**1**

We ran out of rations within the first week, all of us too hungry to save any for later. By

Friday, we were back to where we started: hungry, tired and on the brink of insanity. I, being the responsible guardian, gave my part of the ration to Rach, the youngest of us three and the most vulnerable. She had no self-control over her hunger, always craving more and eating it all on the spot the minute it was in her grubby little hands. Trae and I looked on helplessly, knowing well enough that she would regret eating everything later, when the hunger pains got really bad. She would learn soon enough that she had to control herself, no matter how hard it gets. That's one of the first lessons you learn when you become ten.

Six dull eyes looked at our empty straw sack. Surely we couldn't have eaten that fast. We had more food than we could have hoped for this week after the family next street were taken away during the middle of the night. No one knows where they go, but what we do know is that they never return to their house again. We took the chance and took their ration sack from their doorstep in the middle of the night. Now, after just five days, everything was gone. It felt like an eternity before Rach spoke up with a quivering voice.

"This is all my fault."

Her eyes had glazed over with a thick layer of salty tears. Her lips trembled as the first tear began to make its way down her dusty cheek.

"I should have waited for mealtimes, breakfast, lunch and dinner. But … but I just couldn't help myself."

By now she was in a right state. Her tears left trails of clear skin from the brown, powdery dust. She could barely hold herself together.

"I thought you wouldn't notice, I … I thought we could still last the week."

She tore her eyes away from the vast emptiness of our straw bag and trudged over to her corner, where she crouched down and her body shook violently from her sobs. Trae and I looked at each other with pity. We knew that she was deeply sorry, yet we couldn't forgive her quite so easily. She had not only put herself in a bad position for the next two days, but she also left us starving thanks to her empty stomach. I looked Trae up and down, trying to see what she looked like without all her clothes on, keeping her warm from the winter wind. Her face had sunken in, revealing defined cheekbones and pale blue eye sockets. She needs the food; she needs it more than Rach and me. Her fingers were a thin layer of skin on stringy pieces of bone.

The wind found its way under our window, which had been caked in dirt and was impossible to see out of. I shrugged more of my thin coat onto my shoulders, covering my chin with what still remained of my scarf. Rach shuddered in her corner, even though she had the most layers on in the family. I took one last look into our sack, and spoke for the first time in what felt like hours.

"I guess I'll be hunting tomorrow."

Rach looked up at me with red, puffy eyes and cried even more. She kept on muttering to herself in between sobs, saying how everything was her fault. I looked opposite me to Trae, who was still staring blankly at the straw sack.

"Trae, you know the drill. I'll be leaving tomorrow before dawn and be at the Overflow all day. If I'm not home by sunset tomorrow, don't come looking for me. They'll see that you and Rach are both missing, and they'll hunt you down and take you away, just like they did with mum."

I knew I'd hit a bad spot with both of the girls, but it had to be said. Mum had left to go looking for my dad and brother when they didn't return from hunting one day. She was found near the Water, about to take her own life after hearing from a friend she passed that the green trucks took her husband and son. She was taken by a group of men in uniform and put in a helicopter and has never been seen since. I know this because I followed her every step, hiding and ducking in bushes and trees, watched how the men treated her and shoved her in the helicopter, watched the black, flying machine disappear into the night.

I went down the concrete steps and into the storage closet in the littered, bare hallway. This used to be a house full of laughter and fun, a house that saw a family of six laugh and talk without a care in the world, when all of us were scared right down to our bone of what tomorrow would bring for all of us, and whether this would be the last night as a whole group. I took out the dusty gun and started loading it. My father taught me how to use one before he was sent away, and I have only had to use these on animals, and terrified of the day when I have to use on another human being. I pushed my hair out of my face; my once vibrant green highlights now almost the same color as my natural hair, coated in a layer of dust from not having a shower in over a fortnight. My messy bun I'd done this morning in a hurry was falling out and thick, golden strands of hair were starting to fall over my eyes, blocking my vision. Once I'd finished loading the gun, I carried it with me to my bed and laid it against my worn out blanket. Our house had been stripped of supplies once word got round that it was just three girls left in the house by themselves. While were all out getting our rations, some of the neighbors decided to break in and take all our valuables. We came back to a broken door and nothing to keep us warm during the harsh winters. Two years later, and we're just surviving. Just. If it weren't for a few friends of our parents who took pity on us and gave us food they cooked themselves, I can only say that we would be in an even worse position than we are at the moment, if that's even possible.

Our last resort for food was always the Bowl. This was a shop in the heart of the city that used to be a restaurant. Now, it's just a room full of chipped tables and chairs and an unclean kitchen that was left in a hurry. It's running now as a soup kitchen, where people all over would come for a very basic meal. You had to pay something to get in, and it could be anything from a used toothbrush to a sock full of holes. I decided to take what was left of our family there tonight. I called them to the bedroom and explained the plan. We all went our separate ways, trying to find something, anything to give into the kitchen. After ten minutes, Rach came back with a de-fluffed teddy bear, Trae had a tennis ball she found at the bottom of our litter filled garden and I had the empty sack that used to be full of our rations. I decided to take the gun for our protection. Another lesson we learn when we're old enough is to never travel alone and to always be prepared for the worst when out of the comforts of your house. Rach took watch, looking through the cat flap onto the deserted street that lay before us. We got the all clear signal and made our way out of our makeshift door and onto the road. We were hit by the bitter wind that bit what skin we'd left uncovered by the pieces of fabric that hung from our skin. We huddled closely together, keeping as much warmth between us as possible. We had a fifteen-minute walk ahead of us to get to the warmth of the Bowl. We kept an eye on each driveway we passed, checking for scraps of food people didn't want (which was hardly ever, every piece of food is vital) and for anyone who could be a threat to us. The girls and I finally came to the top of our street and turned left, following the large empty road that lay before us heading into what was left of the once busy, energetic city that people here called home. It's been over 10 years since the last car has driven down our street, only trucks and vans that come to pick up any stragglers rule the wide roads. The worst thing about the winters here was that it never snowed, only rained, hailed and the wind was merciless.

An old woman had taken advantage of the quiet road and was trying yet failing at building a fire to keep her warm. You got used to sights like these all around the city, where people were forced out of their house and had to find somewhere else to live. If they didn't, they had to suffer a cold, unforgiving winter on the streets. They acted as warning signs, showing what the men in the vans could do to you if you didn't follow their orders. Every time I passed someone who had to live in these horrible conditions, my heart sunk even lower than it already was. This grandmother was no exception and what was worse was that she had only one or two layers of clothing on, nothing to protect her from the weather that hit her. As we shuffled past her, my sisters on either side of me kept their heads down, knowing too well that there was nothing they could do for her. I, however, kept my head up and looked her dead in the eye. What I saw was a person who was still holding onto hope even knowing that there was none. She smiled a weak smile at me, probably the first she's done in a very long time. I couldn't take it anymore and separated from my sisters and walked as happily as I could over to her. For a minute, the poor woman looked as if I was going to tell her off and hurt her and backed away from me. Up close, she was a sight that I wish I never saw again. Her face was almost transparent, every vein could be seen on her forehead and they wiggled and intertwined with one another. Her eyes had lost all their light and shine and were replaced with ones as black and sad as her heart. She was almost bald and her scalp was infested with lice and they acted as a small layer of protection for her head against the storm that was starting to brew. I smiled as best as I could and started to shrug off my jacket that I'd kept for years and had kept me warm on nights that turned the earth's core to ice. The wind was now at its peak, so strong that it was almost impossible to keep your eyes open. My skin immediately turned to goose bumps through the many layers of thin clothing I had on already. The old lady looked as if she was being offered a large, hot bowl of soup. Her face lit up so much that her veins seemed even bolder than they were before and she revealed a mouth with only fragments of what remained of her teeth. I took the coat in my hands and with a smile, placed them in hers. She looked startled at first but after a minute, she came up to me and did the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me in a very long time. She hugged me so tightly; that all the warmth returned back to me and nothing else mattered. Her boney arms wrapped around my waist and she placed her head in my thin sweater and cried. Her fragile body shook against the winds powerful force and she wouldn't let go of me. It took her five minutes to gather herself again, and I put the jacket in her hands and with a blue, frozen hand waved goodbye. She returned the kind gesture and put it on, twirling on the street with the wind picking it up off the ground. I smiled one last time and walked back to my sisters who stared at me, wide mouthed. I hopped back into step with them and we continued our way down the never-ending street that would lead us to dinner at the Bowl.

The wind was hitting us from behind as we walked quickly down to the dimly lit shop on the main street. We walked past stores that had been looted by the public within the first few days of the news that New Zealand had joined the war, the public going into a frenzy and smashing the windows of shops and taking whatever they could get their hands on. Within a month, the once busy high street was deserted; trash covered the pavements, glass was always a safety hazard and everyone had left.

The Bowl was at the other end of the street and was the only building with light on the long, endless street. It stuck out from the rest of the stores with its sign still on its hooks outside advertising it. We walked merrily through the door, happy to be out of the cold. We stood in the doorway, taking in the sights and smells of the scene that lay before us. The homeless took up wooden benches or families, who like us, have no food left. The tables were stacked with steaming bowls of tonight's special, watery tomato soup. This one very basic meal warmed not only the people's throats, but also the people's hearts. The room was buzzing with voices of different backgrounds overlapping one another, and at some points a cackle of a laugh would ring out from the rest. Rach, Trae and I both looked at one another with glee and had to stop ourselves from sprinting down to the massive bowl and drinking the whole thing ourselves. Instead, we formed an orderly line with youngest at the front and me, the oldest, at the back. The steam rising from the boiling soup made my crusty mouth water. My sisters' got a place with a family we are close with, the Wilkinson's. When I finally got my chipped bowl with the generous portion of watered down soup, I made my way to take my seat next to Trae and the Wilkinson's son and best friend, Axel.

He's been my best friend since my mum was taken away and has been with me through thick and thin. He has already seen fifteen winters as bitter and cold as this one, and was almost of age where he was considered old enough to be taken to where my father and brother were. He was starting to form a fine layer of stubble around his jaw line, already starting to turn white from the frost outside. His eyes didn't hold any spark, instead they were a muted, muddy brown. Yet those eyes could assess anyone and everyone within a room. He could tell you their backstory, how old they were, their name, their mood ... all within a couple of seconds of meeting them. He hardly spoke to anyone apart from me and his family, never trusting anyone he didn't know that well with too much information about himself or his loved ones. He was always getting into trouble, from trying to nick someones food right out of their hands to back talking to someone superior to him. Yet the fear that I saw in his eyes when he looked past my shoulder sent chills down my spine. I slowly turned my head, expecting to see a horrible monster you only here in fairytales. But what I came face to face with was much worse. So much worse. A group of old men in thick, navy uniformed trench coats stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance. They were known as the Guard, a group of men who were too old or physically injured to be picked up in the green trucks, so instead stalked the streets at night, looking for any mischief. They'd never caught Axel, he was always too quick and light footed to be caught. Yet today, all these years of hiding in abandoned alleys had finally caught up with him. He was found, and the Guard were looking straight at him


End file.
